A/N: So I decided to continue this one shot from my series 'Next Time' - comment if you enjoy! Trigger warnings for kidnapping, implied human experimentation and child abuse.
...
The girl is very young when it first happens. She is maybe five years old, sitting in the garden on a sunny day, and reaching for a toy car just a few centimetres out of range. Her bottom lip sticks out in a pout and she is about to call for her sister when the car begins to rattle, shaking in its place. It rolls slightly, away from her at first, and then back towards her, picking up momentum until it slides across the grass into her hand.
The girl doesn't find this scary - she only giggles with delight and carries on with her game. Too young to realise that what has just happened isn't normal; she will be nearly seven before somebody tells her she is different. Her parents will catch her, pulling books of a shelf without touching them during a temper tantrum, and they will scream. They will lock her door and yell at her through it, telling her she mustn't ever do that again. She will cry until her sister climbs the tree outside her bedroom window and knocks on it, clambers in when it is opened for her.
"It's going to be alright." She'll whisper, holding her close. "But you can't let anyone see you doing that again, ok?"
The girl sniffs, wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "Why?"
Her sister runs a hand through her hair gently. "It isn't safe. There are bad men who'll want to take you away if they find out." She takes her girl's hands in her own, looks her dead in the eyes. "You mustn't let the bad men get you, Emma."
Emma Perkins nods frantically, wipes at her eyes and swallows back more tears. "I won't, Janey. I promise."
"Good girl." Jane tucks a loose strand of Emma's hair behind her ear. "You're so strong, Em."
She will never find out how true those words really are.
...
Emma Perkins is twenty-seven when her sister dies. She is in Guatemala when she finds out, over a phone call from her brother-in-law on a shitty landline. She is glad in the end that she is somewhere so remote, because when the penny drops and she fully understands what has happened, she screams, and flattens half a dozen trees around the phone box. The phone itself sparks and sizzles, and she suspects it might be out of commission going forward. She has always been bad at controlling her ability, but her big sister had protected her, helped her conceal it to adulthood and avoid being taken by the Bad Men.
She hates Hatchetfield with a passion, but she can't deny now that she has to go back. Saying goodbye to her sister is more important. So her next move, after she is sure she's not at risk of blowing something else up, is to walk to the nearest bar, and to use their landline to book a plane ticket back to that stupid island.
She's going home.
...
"Ashes to ashes..." The priest drones as Tom releases a handful of soil onto his wife's final resting place. He can hear his son sobbing behind him, turns to embrace him. He isn't listening to the service anymore, hardly was to begin with. All he can hear these days is a ringing in his ears, and all he can see that godforsaken crossroad where he lost everything.
Not everything. He still has Tim. Poor, sweet Tim who hardly talks anymore and used to love cars.
There are hoards of people here today to pay their respects. He greeted them as they entered the church that morning, shaking hands and saying what one is expected to say on days like these. Etiquette has never been his strong suit; that was always Jane's area of expertise. There had been one woman who he hadn't recognised though, and he had asked her rather bluntly for her name.
"Emma Perkins." The petite woman had replied, and he'd recognised her voice. His sister-in-law.
"Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to Jane."
Emma had said nothing and passed by him into the church, a grim expression set on her face.
She stands away from the crowd now, clenching and unclenching her fists. Tom sees her over his son's shoulder, tries not to stare, but the anger builds in his chest. How many times had Jane practically begged Emma to come and visit? To meet her nephew? And this is how it finally happens? He is suddenly disgusted.
"Dad?" Tim sniffles, and the fury dissipates. The wind has picked up and it has come over dark and cloudy.
"Come on, kiddo." Tom whispers. "Say goodbye to mom, and lets get home."
...
Emma stands in the rain until everyone else is gone. She can't face Tom and his son, her nephew, not now, when she's having enough trouble staying calm as it is. When the churchyard is empty she approaches the headstone.
"Hi Janey." She whispers beneath the sounds of the incoming storm. "It's me. I came to say that... um, that I'm sorry. I'm really, really goddamn sorry." Her voice breaks and she wipes away the tears mixing with raindrops on her cheeks. "I was scared and I ran away, and I missed so much... And I miss you." Breath hitching, she kneels on the disturbed dirt, places one hand on the headstone. Her words give way to sobs, and she feels the snap of the stone beneath her fingers - a crack splits down the side.
"Emma Perkins?" A deep voice calls out from only a couple of feet away. She flings herself around to face a heavy set man, stood in all black with an umbrella to match. Did he see what she did? What she can do?
"What do you want?" She raises her voice to be heard.
"To help you." He smiles. Then he pulls a gun from his waistband.
"Shit." Emma gasps as she throws an arm out instinctively, knocking him to the ground with a whoosh. She feels a sharp shock in the side of her neck, turns in that direction. There are two more figures there, one of them holding another firearm out towards her. "N-no..." She manages, dazed, before slipping to the ground. She twists her fingers into the grass, for once actually willing her stupid ability to do something, but she has spent so long suppressing it, and she's never used it to fight before, not intentionally. She hears a woman's voice above her.
"Subject obtained." She says, cold and clinical. Emma barely manages to whine before she slumps fully onto the grass, and the world goes dark.
...
"Hey... hey new girl, wake the f*ck up."
"Will you chill out, Ted? She looks like she's been through the wringer, she could use the rest."
"Sorry, Bill, that I want to know what the hell is going on around here lately!"
"I am convinced you never graduated kindergarten Spankoffski."
"Guys please, you're upsetting Char."
"I'm fine, it's ok. Is she..."
"She's still breathing."
Emma comes back to awareness in glimpses. She hears voices, then feels somebody kneeling beside her, before she manages to peel her eyes open.
"N-nnnn..." She wants to shout at the man leaning over her to get the hell away from her, but she doesn't have much luck getting even a syllable out.
"She's awake!" The man calls out.
"Please, Ted, you're scaring her." A timid feminine voice returns.
As her eyes adjust to the light, Emma realises that she's indoors. In an all white room, with a group of others... four of them? The man nearest to her, who has a moustache and narrowed eyes, leans back nonchalantly as she flings an arm out at him.
"What's she doing, trying to glare me to death?" He says over his shoulder.
"I think she's trying to use her power... Move back, Ted, she's afraid."
The man, Ted, does as he's asked, and in the newly formed space Emma manages to pull herself upright. She still feels drowsy but she can move now at least.
"What the f*ck?" She slurs, wincing against the brightly lit room. A second man steps forward, his hair light brown and shaggy.
"My name is Paul." He says, holding his hands out placatingly. "It wasn't us who brought you here - I know this must be scary but it's also quite hard to explain."
"Try me." She demands anyway, curling her knees up to her chest.
Paul sighs and shifts into a crouch in front of her. "It's... there's this organisation, called PEIP. Not very big, just peeps into the FBI and CIA investigations when something... supernatural turns up."
Emma nods, mainly to try and clear the brain fog.
"There was a bunch of kids who were born, decades ago now, with these special powers that normal humans don't have-"
"A bunch?" Emma gapes. "There's other people like-?" She cuts herself off, instinctively not wanting to give herself away.
Paul smiles, figuring out what she means anyway. "Well, I'm sure there's no one exactly like you. But... we all have something. Anyway, PEIP took an interest. So they took us." He shrugs. "I'm sorry."
"You..." Emma knows she should feel scared, but she's still thinking about the concept of other people with abilities, people she won't have to hide from or act differently around.
Eventually a memory emerges of a dart burying itself in her neck, and her hand flies up to the spot where it made impact.
"The Bad Men." She whispers. They caught up to her at last. That is when the fear fully sinks in. "What are they going to do to us?"
Ted scoffs from the corner he's settled in with the woman, Char. "Whatever they damn well please."
"Ted." The final figure in the room scolds. He has dark skin and kind eyes. "That's not helpful."
"It's the truth!" He fires back.
Paul shakes his head. "Sometimes they just want to watch what we can do. Those days aren't so bad."
"Oh, I don't like this." Charlotte whines from across the room, and buries her head against Ted's shoulder.
"Just focus on me, Char." He strokes her back, surprisingly tender. "It's alright."
"What's wrong with her?" Emma breathes.
"She's feeling your fear." Paul explains.
"I'm not scared!" She objects, despite being completely terrified. It feels like the boogeyman of her childhood has just snatched her from her life, from her sister's funeral. She realises she isn't wearing her black dress and heels anymore, patting down her clothes to find she is dressed in loose grey scrubs instead. So are the others. She can feel a cold metal band tight around her wrist, too.
"Charlotte is an empath." Paul continues to explain, seeing her confusion. "It can get overwhelming for her, sometimes."
Emma forces a deep breath. No sense in panicking, she hears Jane saying. It is what it is.
"So... she can feel other people's emotions?"
"Yeah." Paul nods. "And thoughts sometimes, if she's concentrating. Not without trying though." He adds at her alarmed look.
Emma holds a hand out in front of her, palm facing away. Nothing happens. She doesn't feel the usual warmth, the rush of energy...
"Why can't I... I can't feel it."
"The bands." He gestures at her wrist. "They block it."
She notices that Ted and and the other man have them too, but Charlotte and Paul don't.
"If PEIP thinks we're dangerous, they like to keep us contained." He tells her. "Ted and Bill... they can hurt people, not that Bill ever would."
Ted doesn't deny that he might. Paul rises to his feet and holds out a hand to Emma; she takes it and pulls herself up, steadying herself against the white tile wall. They're in a square room with three sets of bunk beds, and not much else.
"Bill can make things grow, really fast." Paul whispers to her as she scans her surroundings. "And Ted can make fire!"
Bill looks sort of embarrassed by this, but Ted puffs his chest out.
"I... I'm Emma." She sighs, bewildered. These people are on her side, she figures: not a threat. "I can... I don't know, move things without touching them, I guess." She's never told anyone out loud before.
"Neat." Paul smiles, and it seems genuine, if a little sympathetic. "Welcome to the club, Emma."
She takes another deep breath, and wonders what she's in for.